She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleam’d upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment’s ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From Maytime and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
I swear I’m more interesting But thoughts remain untouched in my mind; What if they were to become mangled upon speaking? So I type conversations That could’ve happened together in person Because that way I don’t have to witness reactions I have time to process Time to think Space to leave.
Eyes drawn nowhere, Skittering across dewy propositions. Gaze for too long and that line of sight will sink, Sink into muggy hotness and airy beds of repetition.
I search for gold When sitting in a cave of treasure. I dream of resting When I am asleep. I seek beauty Despite the vibrance of my possessions. I want more, When I have no room.